


Balanced on a Knife's Edge

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Bloodletting, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Knives, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Possibly Pre-Slash, Ritual Sacrifice, Strangulation, Temporary Character Death, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: “Do you want to die, Jon?”Elias crowds Jon against the tunnel wall, brushing the back of his hand along Jon’s cheek.“What? No!” The Archivist fights against the panic he’s sure is plain on his face. Jon slaps the hand away, “Of course not!”Or: What if instead of Oliver, it was Elias who forced Jon to make his choice. Set sometime before the Unknowing.





	Balanced on a Knife's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm just going to roll around in season three era Jon whump. 
> 
> Special thanks to my betas shipwreckblue and flowersforgraves

“Do you want to die, Jon?” 

Elias crowds Jon against the tunnel wall, brushing the back of his hand along Jon’s cheek.

“What? No!” The Archivist fights against the panic he’s sure is plain on his face. Jon slaps the hand away, “Of course not!”

His protests only serve to bring a smile to Elias’ face, proud and sharp in a way that has Jon eyeing the exit. Why did he even come down here in the first place? Elias promised him answers but he should have known that would be a lie. All the man does is play games. Well, this is a game that Jon’s done playing. 

He tries to push past Elias but the other man doesn’t budge. Jon adjusts his shirt with a huff. “If you wouldn’t mind, I have work to--”

In a flash of motion Elias seizes Jon by the neck and slams him against the brickwork. A distant part of him wonders if the stars are from the force of the impact, or the torch he dropped bouncing away. 

Elias leans in to whisper against his ear. “I need you to prove it.” 

“Elias, I--” he chokes out, scrabbling to pry the fingers from around his throat. “I don’t want-- Stop, _ please._” He begs, though he knows it’s a waste of breath. 

Elias sighs and shakes his head. “That’s not enough.” He steadily increases the pressure on the Archivist’s windpipe, paying Jon’s frantic struggles no mind. “If you don’t want to die, then don’t.”

_ As if it was that simple, _ Jon thinks bitterly despite his panic.

Jon’s movements falter as his brain starves. “I want--” Jon forces out, “t- to live.” His hands fumble at those around his neck before becoming too heavy and falling limply to his side. 

Elias’ words come out clipped, irritated. “Then don’t _ let _ me kill you, Jon.” 

Through it all the Archivist never looks away. His eyes are hard and sharp underneath the fear demanding answers. The need to see and to _ know _burns from inside him with a strength he didn’t know he had. 

Something like pride crosses Elias’ face before Jon’s vision darkens in a flutter of lashes.

“Oh, Jon,” Elias makes a disappointed noise, releasing him to slump to the floor. “I had hoped you would have made more progress by now.” 

Jon’s chest spasms in a coughing fit as he sucks in desperate lungfulls of air. He is too preoccupied with breathing to fight back as Elias drags him deeper into the tunnels. 

\---

The next thing he knows he’s on a table, staring at domed brickwork ceiling. _ An autopsy table. _The knowledge settles heavily into the Archivist’s brain. 

_ That can’t be right… _

He gathers his wits about him and tries to sit up only to come up short. His wrists and ankles are bound to either side and a thick belt across his chest holds him down. The leather straps creak with age but hold firm when he fights against them. 

“Finally back with us I see.” Elias says from somewhere above him.

“What is--” Jon’s abused voice cracks and sends him into a coughing fit before he can finish the thought.

Elias tsks and circles around to face his Archivist, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “I will admit that perhaps it might be a bit too soon for this particular lesson, but these are trying times and needs must when the circus is in town.”

“You told me you had answers, but so far all you’ve done is throttle me and strap me to a bloody table!” Jon pulls futilely at his restraints. “If this is all you’ve got you might as well have left me with them and saved us both the trouble.” 

“I’m trying to _ help you_, Jon. You _ chose _ to die in there with Michael.” Elias’ eyes flash. “You gave up. If the circus is to be stopped, you have to be stronger than that.” Elias brings forth a wickedly sharp knife and held it up for Jon to see. 

The frustration fell away from Jon’s face as Elias approached. “E- Elias, you don’t h-have to...” 

Elias shifts the knife to his other hand and unbuttons Jon’s shirt, exposing his chest to the cool underground air. He presses the blade to the center of Jon’s chest, just below the strap with enough pressure to dimple the skin but not break it. 

“You told me you didn’t want to die… Didn’t you?” 

The Archivist pulls his eyes away from the knife to meet Elias’ calculating stare. “I did,” he says with a calm he does not feel.

“Good.” His sudden smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then you won’t let me kill you.”

“Elias, wha--”

With a flick of his wrist the blade parts Jon’s flesh from sternum to navel. He cries out more in shock than pain. He pulls at the cuffs, desperate to cover the wound as warm blood oozes from it and trickles across his stomach.. 

“Christ, Elias! Stop this! I told you I don’t want to die.”

“Hm,” Elias admires Jon’s blood on the knife in his hand. “I’m not the one you need to convince.” 

_ “What the hell does that even mean?” _

Elias delights in the sensation of compulsion for a moment then makes two quick cuts over the Archivist’s heart to form an oval. He rests the knife point in the center, pushing slowly deeper until blood wells up to cry a crimson tear across his chest. 

“I don’t understand,” Jon gasps, fighting to get free from the restraints. 

“Of course not.” Elias drags the knife slowly along the Archivist’s skin, leaving a bright red trail in its wake. “If you did, we wouldn’t be here.” 

Jon grits his teeth against the pain and tries to steady his breathing. The panicked flutter of his heart only serves to make his blood flow faster. He can already feel it dripping down his side and soaking through his shirt to pool on the table. 

_ “Please, _ Elias…” 

He isn’t letting Elias do anything, bound and rendered helpless-- _ again_. Frustrated tears prick in the corners of his eyes. If he dies here it won’t be because Jon allowed it, but because he was powerless to stop him. 

He won’t even be the first Archivist Elias has murdered in the tunnels. 

Jon knows he is going to die-- unless Elias suddenly decides he’s learned whatever the hell lesson he’s trying to teach him. There is no amount of him _ not wanting to die _ is going to seal his wounds. No magic power that will keep Jon from succumbing to the blood loss he feels tugging at the edges of his consciousness. 

_ Or is there? _

Compulsion claws its way up the Archivist’s throat like bile, eating at him but building strength as he forms a question in his mind. 

_ “How do I stop you from ki--” _

Two quick steps and Elias has a hand on this throat. 

“No more of that now,” he tuts, leaning over the Archivist. “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but that’s not what this is about.” He relaxes his grip and pats Jon on the cheek with a fondness that makes Jon’s skin crawl.

“I still don’t know-- _ ah_!” He hisses in pain as Elias drags the knife across his shoulder. 

Elias cuts him again, deeper this time, all the way to the elbow like a parody of medieval bloodletting. “It’s not about compulsion. And it’s not about how much you fight me.”

Jon’s head swims. He tries to press his wounded arm against his side to staunch the blood but the angle is all wrong and he doesn’t have the strength to hold it. He’s lost so much blood, too much blood. It flows down the incline of the autopsy table, threading through his hair as it pools around the drain above his head. 

“You have a choice to make, Jon.” Elias insists. “Once you do I shouldn't be _ able _ to kill you.” 

“Choice? What choice? I don’t…” Nothing makes sense. He’s weak, delirious and nothing Elias says makes any _ goddamn sense_. “I don’t want to die,” Jon begs, “ _ please. _” 

“You either die here. Now. Like this. A weak and pathetic thing, begging for your life. Or--” Elias sets the knife down and brushes a strand of hair from his Archivist’s face. “Or you choose to live. It’s that simple.” 

Even if they weren’t strapped down, Jon’s limbs are too heavy for him to push Elias away. The world darkens around him. Forcing his eyes open after every blink is a struggle. The bright heat of pain can’t cut through the numbing cold that settles in him, dragging him down.

He doesn’t want to die here, he wants to _ live_. Why can’t he make Elias see that? No matter how hard he tries his lips won’t form the words. All he can manage is a low whine in the back of his throat with each labored breath. 

Eventually even that is taken from him as his chest stills he and falls silent. 

\---

Elias watches over the corpse of his Archivist with pride. Even as his body dies, Jon won’t allow the End to claim him. Though the Archivist no longer has breath or a heartbeat, the knife wounds close nicely, a pattern of scars of his own design. 

Soon, his Archivist will be whole again. He wipes away the blood and runs gentle fingers along his face.

His beautiful Archivist. 

“It’s not too late, Jon.” Elias whispers, stroking Jon’s hair. “You can still choose to live.”

Until then he will watch the parade of glorious nightmares that torment what remains of Jonathan Sims. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me, it's the only way I'll stop hurting these characters (unless you'd rather yell encouragements...)


End file.
